4ccd8c655fe61694735ada9eb600d06c (5 page)

"No."

"It's a horse. I carved it. See, four legs and a tail and a head."

Copper made a face. "Don't tell me—you were wearing a blindfold and woolly mittens when you made it."

Questrid shook his head.

"You had one hand tied behind your back?"

Questrid laughed. "No. I just can't carve wood. When I was little, I used to try so hard. I badly wanted to be part of the Wood clan and belong. But I just can't do it."

"So if you're not a Wood, what are you?"

Questrid looked away. "Well . . . ," he began, but Copper interrupted him.

"Who's this?" she said, picking up a framed picture.

"I got it out of a magazine," said Questrid, blushing. "I used to pretend it was my mother. I thought my mother might look like that, I don't know why. There was something about her."

Copper nodded. "I know. I understand."

"I don't know who I am," Questrid told her. "Greenwood
found me years ago, sheltering by a rock in a blizzard. He brought me here and no one ever claimed me, so I stayed. I was about six or seven then. They called me Questrid because Questrid was a famous hunter, and it turned out that I was really good at tracking animals and people, following prints in the snow—you know, that sort of thing."

"So you were a foundling too."

"Too?
But
you
weren't."

"Yes, I was, I was found by Aunt Ruby," said Copper.

Questrid looked puzzled. "I don't understand. You're a Wood. Everyone knows that. You're not a foundling. I thought you'd just been living somewhere else. Didn't you know you were a Wood?"

"No. I didn't know this place existed until yesterday. Now it seems strange that I've never asked Aunt Ruby more. . .." She gazed out the window toward the Rock. "I'm going to find out, though," she added. "And I want to know more about the Rockers. Who are they?"

"They're miners and metalworkers, like dwarves of long ago. The Beech family used to trade with them; the Rockers gave them metal and gold that they dug out of the rocks and we gave them wooden things and fruit and vegetables and stuff from the valley. But then there was some terrible row, I think about money, and now there's a sort of war between us. They still mine the rocks, of course, but I don't know what they do with it. People say they keep the Rock all shuttered up and dark. They're our enemies, all the Stone people are. . . ." Questrid's voice trailed off.

"What? Why don't you go on?"

Reluctantly Questrid went across to the bed and pulled something out from under it. He held it up for Copper to see. It was the head of a dog, carved out of gray stone.

"Oh, it's beautiful," cried Copper, stroking the sculpted head. "It's Silver, isn't it? Did you do it?"

Questrid nodded.

"Well, what are you looking so glum about? Aunt Ruby's always making things, always carving things out of stone! You should be proud you can do it. I never could, though I tried—I can't do anything!" She looked up at Questrid and was surprised to see his cheeks blazing red and his eyes shining with unshed tears. "What is it?"

"It's all right for your aunt Ruby—she doesn't live up here, does she? Don't you see what it means? That I might be a Rocker too, a nasty Stone person, like
them,
and I don't want to be!"

"But you couldn't be ... you're nice."

"And if I was one of them," Questrid went on, "a Rocker, then they might send me back, mightn't they? And I don't ever want to leave here. Never."

A sharp
tap tap
on the window made them both spin round in surprise. A dove had landed on the sloping roof outside and was knocking at the glass with its beak.

Questrid opened the window, glad to have the chance to change the subject, and the bird flew onto his arm.

Coo, coo,
it whispered.

"Coo, coo, yourself," said Questrid. "And thank you very
much," he added, slipping the piece of paper out of the tiny wooden holder on the bird's leg. "It's a message from Robin."

"What does it say?"

"That your uncle is ready to see you."

10. Uncle Greenwood

COPPER LOOKED SERIOUS.

"It isn't every day you get to meet a brand-new uncle," she said thoughtfully. "Is he nice?"

"Oh, yes, very nice, but. .."

"But what?"

"Nothing ... but he is peculiar."

"So is everyone, I've decided."

Questrid smiled. "Greenwood is very changeable. Sometimes he's gentle and fatherly and kind, and at other times ... well, he's never unkind, but he's different."

"Same as all grown-ups, then," said Copper.

"Yes, but him more than anyone," said Questrid. "You'll see. He's amazing at woodwork, though. He can make anything."

It was warm and comforting in the kitchen. Oriole was cooking and Robin was cutting up vegetables, and the room was filled with lovely smells.

"Hello, Copper. Did you have a good look round? I hope
you're getting your bearings. Your uncle Greenwood is here now. He's in the Root Room. Take her, will you, Questrid?"

"Root Room? Let me guess," said Copper. "That's downstairs?"

"Correct."

A small door beneath the spiral staircase that Copper had not noticed before was carved with pictures of chisels, planes, hammers and nails.

"A woodwork room!" said Copper.

Questrid nodded and, opening the door, led Copper down a narrow, twisting stairway. It was gloomy, and the air was thick and warm and earthy.

Copper was aware that her heart was thumping like a machine right up in her throat. I hope Uncle Greenwood likes me. Please let him be having one of his kind and gentle days.

They reached the bottom and Copper found herself staring straight into her uncle's unblinking eyes.

"See you later," whispered Questrid, and he slunk quietly back up the stairs.

Uncle Greenwood didn't speak or move, so Copper, breathing steadily, looked around at the strange room. All the time a little voice inside her kept saying, It's an uncle Greenwood, uncle Greenwood,
my
uncle Greenwood.

She was standing on a thick layer of pale wood chips that covered the rock floor. The smell of freshly sawn wood filled the air. Looking up, she could see how the massive roots of the old spindle tree spread out above her head, forming an arch like an ancient chapel ceiling. The roots clung to the
walls in a thick, matted net. The walls themselves were hard earth, and in among the roots were little cupboards and shelves, racks and hooks for the woodwork tools.

In the center of the room was a vast worktable and hanging above it, a large, bright light, like a pumpkin.

Behind the table, still staring at Copper, was Uncle Greenwood. He was thin and very tall with red hair that stood straight off his head. He wore glasses on the end of his nose, which was big and knobbly and freckly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," said Uncle Greenwood, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to stare. It gave me such a shock, seeing you like that. You're so like your mother! The image! I never ..." He came round the table and put his arms round Copper awkwardly, as if he hadn't had much practice at such things. "There, there," he whispered, as if Copper were a baby. "When this aunt Ruby of yours sent word that you were alive," he went on, backing off again, "well, we didn't know whether to believe it, and Robin said you had the hands, but when I see you, there's no doubt, no doubt at all."

"I'm really like my mother?" Copper asked. "How? Which bits?"

A mother!

She felt a buzzing in her head as if a bee were trapped between her ears. "So I wasn't just found, but designed, like everyone else," she said.

"Ah ha, yes, I think I see what you mean. Real parents. Yes, no doubt at all."

"You must think me odd, or stupid," said Copper, "but it's wonderful to have some pieces of my past at last. Because all the time I haven't had the bits to put together, and now . . . well, even just
seeing
you is a great help. But I think it was mean of you to wait so long."

Copper went on. "Why didn't you see me straightaway? Do Oriole and Robin know my mother?" She shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the buzzing noise. "It doesn't seem fair."

She sounded cold and unfriendly and hated herself for it, but she was unnerved. He knew things about her that she didn't know. Even Questrid knew more about Copper than Copper did. She took a big breath and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Quite right," said her uncle, smiling. "It's not fair. It won't happen again."

Copper returned his smile.

"Come and sit," said Uncle Greenwood, clearing off sawdust from a stool. His hands were elegant, narrow with long rootlike fingers. Something melted a little inside Copper and she sat down.

"When I got here, I knew it was my
place,"
said Copper. "I haven't had to knit once, and usually when things are new, and I get all tangled inside, I have to knit. I'm looking for a pattern, you see, and I know that when I find it, I'll be able to knit it all and finish it, and that will be that."

"Good! Wonderful!"

They beamed at each other.

"Now," said Copper, "please explain who Aunt Ruby is and how she found me and where my mother is. Tell me everything. And is there a father? I mean, I know lots of people have babies without fathers around these days, so that doesn't matter or anything, but I want to know. And who were the men at the station trying to get me, and why ..."

She stopped and grinned up at her new uncle.

"Very, very like your mother!" said Uncle Greenwood, nodding.

"Good," said Copper.

"Where do I start? It all goes back to the Rock."

"The Rock?"

"Yes. They attacked again today, I hear."

"But what about my mother?"

"Well, Copper, this will be hard, but I must tell you if you're going to learn about your past that your mother . . . your mother was one of
them."

"One of them?" Copper shook her head. "No. She couldn't have been." She squirmed as if ice had just been dropped down her back. "They're the people you all hate. They're all bad, Oriole said so." She suddenly remembered poor Questrid's face when he told her he might belong to the Rock too. "No. Don't say it!"

"It's the truth. But your mother wasn't bad. I promise you could not find a better person than your mother. Of course we, my brother and I, are from the Wood clan. Your father's name was Cedar Beech. Amber was . .."

"Amber? Was her name Amber?" It seemed extraordinary
that this man should be able to speak her mother's name like that, so easily, so knowingly, when Copper hadn't ever even known it. "Amber," she repeated. "I wish I'd known her name before. Now I can begin to picture her and make a face for her. And Cedar Beech. I like the names. I like having names to put on them."

"Oh, dear," said Uncle Greenwood, "this is all so difficult. I'm not used to children or explaining things."

"You're not doing so badly. Go on," said Copper. "Please."

Uncle Greenwood repositioned some tools on the table, then went on.

"Amber came from the Rock, she was from the Stone clan. Now, the two families had a misunderstanding about a bit of money going a long way back, and things were not good between us, so for a Rock to marry a Wood, oh, very bad. And then there was Granite ... he's a Rocker." Uncle Greenwood shivered. "He's an evil fellow and he wanted to marry your mother too. So, you can imagine how he felt when Amber ran away with Cedar."

"Angry?" suggested Copper.

"Furious! Incensed! Crazy!" cried Uncle Greenwood. "Granite said he would get Amber back—as if she were a bit of furniture or something. He swore he would. He stopped all trade with us: look, my chisels are old, my hammer is broken, my knives are worn down. We haven't had new metal here for years. Then one day, Granite attacked. He was determined to kill Cedar: it was terrible. Granite had made himself a silver sword—so cleverly made, so beautiful—you
should have seen it flashing and slicing through the air. Your father couldn't match that sword, and when Granite pierced him with it, he nearly died. I can see it now, the way Granite held the sword tip at his throat . . . Terrible! Then his men took Amber. Kidnapped her. We couldn't do anything. If we'd have so much as moved a finger to help, I know he would have killed Cedar."